


If I Survive, I'll See You Tomorrow

by phoenix_risen



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Developing Friendships, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, POV Third Person, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, connor's pov, their actual interactions are p soft, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-18 15:22:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13103034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenix_risen/pseuds/phoenix_risen
Summary: My legs are dangling off the edge,The bottom of the bottle is my only friend,I think I'll slit my wrists again and I'm gone, gone, gone...Connor and Evan meet in a psych ward after their respective suicide attempts. For the DEH 2017 Secret Santa on Tumblr.





	If I Survive, I'll See You Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING mentions of self harm and suicide (duh)
> 
> Also, disclaimer? I have never personally been in a psych center for my personal issues, so I only knew what I could find. I think I spent three hours researching what it was like in a psych ward..... then I winged it in places.... So I apologize in advance for inaccuracies.

Thirty pain killers and a bottle of vodka should have done it.

If that hadn’t worked, the vertical slashes on his wrists for good measure should have been a fail-safe. They were deep as he could make them, crossing over the lines and lines of scars from before.

He’d done this for a reason, he thought. He felt like a nuisance all the time, so why not? Why not end it? He was just a burden, that much was clear. He saw it in Larry’s eyes when he passed him in the hall, he heard it in Zoe’s voice every time she spoke to or about him, and he could feel it whenever his mother tried to defend him, her attempts getting weaker and weaker each time. He was a bad person, he just was. Everyone thought so. He thought so. All the voices in and out of his head made him feel like this would be the best option. The world would be better off without him messing it up, like a stain on white cloth. A black mark in every otherwise perfect family portrait. It wasn’t fair to them, his family, to have him messing up their perfect suburban household.

But, of course, like in every other facet of his life, Connor  _ failed _ .

Of  _ course _ his mother had to find him, of  _ course _ they spared no expense to save his life. They pumped his stomach and sutured his arms. Apparently his mother had almost vomited when she saw not only the new cuts, but the sea of white scars covering his arms. They weren’t sure he would survive, still, after all that. He beat the odds.

A failure.

He honestly wondered if it was because they cared, or if they just didn’t want to be the family with the dead kid. Not just the dead kid, the kid who offed himself after being a shitty stoner from the age of 14 onwards. Maybe his mother cared. She was the only one who ever seemed to make an attempt to talk to him. Even then, she had been getting sick of him. She would have been better off just leaving him, letting him die. Then she could live without the stress Connor put on her.

He’d never been more disappointed than when he woke up. His mother was crying over him, Zoe looked uncomfortable, and Larry… was at work, he supposed. His mother promised him help, to be more attentive. She’d do anything to assist him getting better. Yeah, she cared. She cared too much, and he wished she wouldn’t. It made things harder. She wanted to help.

He didn’t want her to, really. Or maybe he did. He wasn’t sure.

The process from there was a blur. Suicide watch, talking (yelling) to a psychiatrist, his parents talking to the same psychiatrist, the decision going through to put him in a psych center...

It all felt fake, like he was disassociating until he actually got checked into the center. In all honesty, he probably was. When he finally got there, he had to take out his piercings, his hoodie strings, and he couldn’t wear laced shoes. His mother got him a composition notebook, but he was only allowed to have a dull pencil to write or draw with. There was just so much he couldn’t have. He didn’t want to go, but knew better than to throw a fit about it. It wouldn’t get him anywhere. It wouldn’t be a long stay.

He was only supposed to be there a week. Less than.

But of course, he had to fuck it up. As he demonstrated over and over, he was fan-fucking-tastic at that. His stay got extended because he had one of his outbursts during a group therapy session. It ended with a chair thrown at a nurse and another patient receiving a fist to the face. He broke the guy’s nose.

He deserved it. He was being an asshole. The nurse tried to stop Connor’s tirade, and at that point, he was too pissed off to think.

That being said, he felt bad for it afterwards. He didn’t…. He didn’t mean to get so mad. But it was too late to repair that. It was just like what happened at home with Zoe. Raging at someone else about how they, in some way or another, offended him. Even if they hadn’t. The aftermath was feeling terrible for it, but being too proud or ashamed to offer an apology. He was too used to his attempts at repair going to shit to try anymore.

From there, he went from being there on suicide watch to being there to treat some other disorder he may or may not have had. It was frustrating as hell, and just made him hate being there more. He did it to himself, but he found himself snapping at his mother when she came to visit instead of taking responsibility.

He knew who’s fault it was, but the cutting words just spilled out of his mouth like ink.

Or poison.

Connor wondered if she was some kind of masochist, since she kept coming back to him over and over again. Even when he screamed at her, or swore, or dismissed her, she kept coming back to ask him how he was doing, to say she loved him and was proud of him for getting help.

Like he had a choice.

Today was just another day. They wanted him to try group therapy again, but with a different nurse and group. He just shrugged and let them take him to it. Why not? If he was stuck here, he’d rather sit in a circle barely listening to other people than alone with his thoughts in his room. It wasn’t something he enjoyed, but at least he wasn’t cloistered away in his room.

He was led into a somewhat open room, light blue paint covering the walls and light pouring in the windows. It was a nice day outside, it being late June. Connor sighed and took his seat. There were two other people in the room. One was a girl who looked younger than himself, and the other was a twenty-something looking woman. A few more people filed in, including….

Huh.

That kid looked familiar.

A boy his own age had walked in. He was blond, not quite Connor’s height, and had an unrelenting nervous energy about him. His left arm was in a cast, which made Connor itch at his own arms. He was curious about what happened, but didn’t want to initiate conversation. Instead, he just stared at the guy as he sat down, trying to place his face.Where did he know this guy?

Before he could remember, the twenty-something lady clapped her hands. “Okay, everyone, welcome to Group Therapy! I’m Dr. Fine. Here, we work to show you guys that you aren’t alone in your struggles, and support you. We have three new members, today, actually! Would you guys mind introducing yourselves? We’ll go in a circle from there. Name, age, and reason you’re here, please!”

“I can go first.” The younger girl raised her hand. “I’m Missy. Twenty. I have depression.”

From there they went clockwise. A guy named Phillip, nineteen, who had depression and wanted to get better, Johanna, fifteen, who had severe social anxiety and was sent by her father, Jason, seventeen, who had depression and some personality disorder and came because of a promise to his girlfriend, and so on and so on. Connor zoned out, staring at the ceiling, until he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“What?” He snapped.

“It’s your turn.” Dr. Fine smiled at him. Connor rolled his eyes.

“I’m Connor. Seventeen, barely. I tried to off myself, and sadly failed. My mom’s making me do this.”

About half of the room winced. Jason snorted.

“You think that’s fucking funny?” Connor growled. Jason covered his mouth, but was obviously still smiling. Connor couldn’t tell if it impressed or pissed him off more.

“Connor, language, please.” Dr. Fine soothed, or at least tried to. “We try not to use that kind of… terminology. Suicide is a sensitive topic here.”

“‘Cause about ninety percent of us tried, yeah?” Connor said, lip curled.

Dr. Fine sighed, voice hushed but not enough to be inaudible. “I was told you were difficult….” She shook her head. “Connor, we’re genuinely trying to help you! We want you to be able to live well.”

“Good luck with that, considering I don’t wanna live at all.”

Jason snorted again, and Connor glared at him. He smiled in return.

Dr. Fine took a deep breath, then smiled again. “Let’s move on, shall we? Natalie…”

Connor looked across the group, and caught the blonde guy staring at him. As soon as they made eye contact, Blonde Guy looked at the ground. Why did he look so goddamn familiar? What the fuck…? Who was this guy?

Connor was paying closer attention, now. Blonde Guy was next, and he needed to know who this kid was.

Some girl named Kim finished her spiel, and it was all eyes on Blonde Guy. He was sitting cross legged in his seat, picking at his shoe.

“Um, hun…” Dr. Fine began. Blonde Guy looked up, eyes shifting this way and that.

“I-I… uh…. Uh….. uh…. Uh…..” He rubbed his arms. “Um, uh…. Uh… I… Uh…”

“Oh, Jesus, just spit it out!” Connor snapped loudly. Blonde Guy squeaked and almost fell out of his chair.

“Con-!” Dr. Fine gasped.

“Evan! I, uh, I’m Evan.” Blonde Guy, Evan, interrupted. Evan…..?

Oh fuck, he knew this kid! He was the weird kid who never spoke to anyone and hung around the Jazz Band! Though, that was a pretty accurate description of Connor, too… yeah... 

“I’m, um, uh, seventeen, and I-I have anxiety, but I-I’m here because of depression.” Evan shrugged.

“You try and kill yourself, too? What do you even have to kill yourself over, anyways?” Connor leaned back in his chair. “Finally get sick of that one fucker you call your friend?”

Evan shrank back in his seat. “Uh…”

“Connor, I swear, you’ll be taken out of this group if you keep this up.” Dr. Fine finally sounded angry. Connor glared at her, crossing his arms.

“Fine. Whatever.”

“So, that’s everyone, then! Let’s start today’s discussion..” Dr. Fine exclaimed. Connor kept staring at Evan. Every so often, their eyes would meet, and Evan’s worried look would renew itself. He’d glance away, obviously trying to avoid looking back and ignore Connor’s intense gaze.

Tch.

He kept this up the entire time, until they were dismissed. When they all got up, he followed after Evan. Evan seemed to know he was, as he picked up his pace.

Connor, getting annoyed, called out to him. “Yo, f-! Evan. Evan, wait up.”

Evan froze, and turned. He looked terrified.

“You’re Evan Hansen, right?”

“Uh, yeah…?”

“I thought so. You’re in my grade. At school. Y’know. I’m Connor. Murphy.”

“Oh! Y-you’re Zoe’s brother.”

Connor’s brow twitched in agitation. Was that really what he was known as? If school was in, he’d probably be known as something worse for this. Actually, he knew people tended to call him worse things. Maybe this guy didn’t have a totally fucked view of him. “Yeah.”

“So, um, I-I-I guess, uh, th-the two of us are in similar boats, yeah?”

“That being?”

“Well, y-you weren’t wrong, perse, earlier.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.” Evan shifted awkwardly. Connor found himself thinking, offhandedly, that this guy was kinda cute up close.  

“Same, though, so no big deal.”

“I-I mean…” Evan frowned.

“No big deal.” Connor repeated, a little more forceful. “Sorry about… Y’know.”

“Uh, yeah, um, it’s really fine, I was taking a long time, andIknowthatthat’sreallyannoyingI’mreallysorryIreallyam-” Evan spoke quickly, like the words were fighting to escape his mouth and be said. Did this guy only have two settings? Stuttering mess and Steve Woodmore?

“I was being an asshole, dude, chill.” Connor rolled his eyes.

“I-I mean, sorta. Yeah.” Connor furrowed his brow, and Evan immediately began to backpedal. “I’msorrythatwasreallyoutofli-!”

Connor let out a clipped laugh. “Oh my god. Man, I was just surprised. Don’t apologize, I actually thought you were kinda cool for a second.”

“Oh!”

Connor actually smiled at him. “If you could calm down for ten seconds, you seem like you’d be a decent guy.”

“Right back at you.” Evan muttered, eyes cast downwards.

Connor snickered. “There ya go, dude. Keep that up, and you won’t be half bad.”

“Yeah?” Evan smiled back at him, hesitant and shy but definitely there.

“Oh yeah.” Connor put his hands in his pockets. 

“N-nice!” Evan chirped. “Um, do you like trees?”

“What kind of fucking question….?”

“I like trees. I know a lot about them.” Evan quickly added.

“I could not give less of a fuck about trees…”

Evan’s face fell.

“...But tell me everything you know. Why the fuck do trees matter? Gimme a reason.”

His face lit right back up, and he started going off about whatever kind of tree. Connor, despite not caring at all about trees and barely listening, couldn’t help but think that, yeah, he really wouldn’t mind being friends with Evan. Evan was a pretty cool guy, really, good to talk to and easy to tease. He wouldn’t mind being friends with him, if Evan would be willing to deal with his bullshit. He spent time with Jared Kleinman, after all. This could work. This could work.

Maybe, if Connor tried really fucking hard, he could avoid messing this up. Maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> The title and description are from Bullet By Hollywood Undead
> 
> All the names in this are refs to musicals, feel free to guess what they're from!
> 
> Also, for those who don't know, Steve Woodmore used to be the Guinness World Record holder for fastest speaker.


End file.
